


When in Rome

by murdur



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Body Shots, Dancing, Established Relationship, F/M, Porn Battle, a universe where Loki didn't let go, sleazy club sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:24:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1193493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdur/pseuds/murdur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy exposes Loki and Sif to the culture of clubbing. Written for Porn Battle XV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When in Rome

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XV  
> Prompts: dancing, drinking games, grind, thighs

The concept of it all is familiar enough to them. On Asgard they do indeed feast for weeks in the great banquet halls and drink for days in the taverns to celebrate even the most minor of victories. So when Loki and Sif take a trip to Midgard to visit Thor, it isn’t hard for his friend Darcy to convince the shieldmaiden to join her on an outing to one of these drinking establishments she calls a “club”. Thor and Jane had been able to beg out of going somehow, leaving them alone in Stark Tower for the evening. Loki had been extremely bad-tempered about the whole ordeal. Yet here he stands, dressed in a white button up shirt with a black vest and tie and dark jeans, glowering at everyone who passes near him in the dark of the crowded bar, including Darcy’s intern Ian who is fidgeting restlessly. 

Sif looks towards the dark dance floor herself, adorned in a deep purple dress embellished with shining silver beads around her bust and a pair of impressively high heels. Sif was instantly enamored with the tiny spikes on the pumps when Darcy brought her into the shoe store, fondly thinking of her own collection of spiked items and wishing to add these to her collection. She now watches the mass of club goers moving and swaying suggestively together to the loud, pulsating music.

“Fear not, my friend I’ll have you out there shaking your ass soon enough. But first,” Darcy raises her arms, “shots! No, wait oh my god I have the greatest idea ever! I’ll be right back,” she whips around before anyone even has a chance to ask.

“Uh, let’s find a table?” Ian shouts nervously above the noise. Sif nods encouragingly at the young man and the three of them move around to find a table tucked back into a corner of the large room. Sif resists the urge to tug on the hem of the strapless, rather short dress Darcy has put her in. When she sits, the entirety of her legs is nearly exposed. 

They settle in, Sif taking in her surrounding with wide eyes; the loud music, the humans dressed in tight outfits, and engaging in something that looks much more profane than the dancing that Sif is familiar with. Loki, of course, seems less impressed, wrinkling his nose at the displays. Ian shifts nervously. 

Darcy returns to the table carrying a round tray full of tiny glasses filled with a clear liquid, slices of a sharp smelling green fruit, and a small container of something white.

“Allow me to introduce you to the wonder of body shots!” When she is met with blank stares from the Asgardians, Darcy continues. "It's a drinking game, kinda. You have those right?

“Here, let me show you,” she takes ahold of a chair and drags it next to Ian. “With help from my assistant, of course.”

“I - what?” Ian asks with a blush creeping up his face.

“You know how to do this right?”

"I've seen- uh well not- I mean..."

Darcy cuts him off. “Where do you want it?”

“I, er, what?” Ian’s blush deepens.

“Where do you want the salt?” Darcy asks again.

“Uhhh...”

“Oh my god. Here,” she sticks a finger in her mouth, wrapping her lips around it before sliding it back out and dragging it along the skin of his neck. Ian’s eyes have grown to the size of saucers but he stays still. And silent.

Darcy lifts the salt shaker and inelegantly spills the fine white rocks onto the damp line left on her assistant’s neck before sitting back. She reaches down, selects a piece of the green fruit. “This is a lime,” she informs the non-humans and offers it up to Ian. “Hold this in your mouth.”

The man places the thick skin of the lime between his teeth and sits, looking nervous. Darcy pays him no mind and turns towards the Asgardians again. 

“The body shot is simple really. You get to pick where you want your line of salt and then your partner licks it off before shooting the tequila. And then you suck on the lime as a chaser. Simple and sexy!” She turns back towards Ian. “So remember: salt, shot, suck.”

Sif watches bemusedly as Darcy leans in to place her tongue on her colleague's neck, chuckling at the way the boy’s eyelids flutter. The brunette lifts a miniature glass from the table and downs the contents in a single swallow before swooping in to place her full lips around the fruit. She swears she can hear Ian whimper even over the sound of the absurdly loud, repetitive music.

Darcy leans back and spreads her arms before her. “And that’s how it’s done! Now it’s your turn to experience this very important part of Earth culture. Bet you don’t have that in space.”

Sif laughs. “We have our fair share of drinking games, but nothing quite like this. Ours involve much more singing. And fighting.”

“Ha, and everyone thinks you're so much more refined than humans."

"And licking others in public is supposed to disprove that theory?" Loki's sneer is haughty. 

"Hell no," Darcy laughs, "but it's what you’re supposed to do in a club. Clubs are sleazy. And you two are in a club. So, you know, when in Rome." She seems to miss the confused exchange of raised eyebrows between the space Vikings as she shoves contents of the tray towards them. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me.” Darcy dumps a line of salt down the line of her ample cleavage and turns back towards a gaped-mouthed Ian. 

Sif, who would never refuse a challenge nor a drink, turns back towards Loki. 

“So,” she drops her voice low, playful. “Where’s it gonna be?”

“You do not _honestly_ expect me to participate, do you?” he raises his eyebrows at her. 

“Are you going to spend the entire evening brooding and looking sullen?"

"I'm not-" he protests but Sif cuts him off. 

"You would do well to remember that I was there when you and Thor donned frocks and danced upon tables in celebration in that tavern on Alfheim. Do not pretend that you are above drinking and merriment. You are known as the God of Mischief, are you not?

"So, if you wish to _sulk_ that is fine, but I will find someone else to engage in this game with me.” It may be a dirty move, but Sif does not regret it. She’s seen the way he’s been looking at her, his eyes following the strong lines of her body under the thin fabric of the short dress. She’s seen the way he’s been looking at the people who've looked at her, the anger and jealousy that flashed across his face as they walked past the line of humans waiting to get inside this building. His sneer had cut deeper into his face as he heard the men whistle and saw them stare at her powerful legs, looking every bit a statuesque Goddess to worship indeed. His body had tensed and curled as he crowded closer to her, letting his magic crackle in the palm of his hand.

He is possessive and petulant. He is powerful. And seeing it all flow from him on her account makes her stomach warm. His eyes flash at her threat and she shivers at the sight.

“Fine,” his reply is curt. He smoothes his hair back with one hand and forms his face into the mask of haughty disinterest she is all too familiar with as he meets her eyes. 

Loki sticks one finger in to his mouth, not breaking eye contact with her and drags the wet digit from below his ear down the column of his throat. Picking up the second shaker, he turns his head, sprinkling the salt down his neck. She watches grains tumble under the crisp collar of his white shirt.

Pulling her chair closer until her knees rest between his splayed legs, Sif waits until Loki gingerly places a lime in his mouth and nods at her, his eyes sparkling. Slowly, she leans in, resting her hands on his thighs, admiring his corded muscles under the fabric of the deliciously tight jeans Darcy dressed him in. Sif would thank her Midgardian friend. Later. Now, Sif softly pushes her tongue against the swell of his throat, feeling him hum before dragging her mouth up his long neck. The salt is heavy on her tongue as she pulls back to raise the tiny glass to her lips. Imitating Darcy, she throws the contents back and feels the salt melt away under the slight sting of the alcohol. The taste of the tequila is strange and sharp, but not wholly unpleasant. And certainly not strong by Asgardian standards. Still, she follows the protocol and swiftly leans back towards where Loki is sitting stock still, his eyes locked on her. Without hesitation, she sinks her teeth into the meat of the fruit, enjoying the burst of tart citrus that spills down her chin and Loki’s too. She can’t deny that the act is slightly electrifying. By the dark glint in his eyes, she thinks the prince feels the same as she settles back in her chair. 

“Lady’s choice,” Loki’s voice curls low.

Placing one calloused finger into her mouth, Sif wets the digit and drags it across the long line of her exposed collarbone. Pouring salt into her palm, she sprinkles it delicately before taking the fruit into her mouth and sitting back in her seat, shoulders back and proud to bare her chest.

The dark prince leans towards her, curls in front of her. She feels his warm breath on her skin, making goose bumps bloom across her chest as he hovers. Almost hesitantly, Loki flicks his tongue into the hollow of her throat then drags his mouth one way and slowly slides back across to the other. He lingers, sucking at her skin and Sif suddenly wishes for his hands on her. Instead, he sits up and downs a shot of the alcohol with ease, the long line of his neck bobbing before swooping down to place his mouth around the offered citrus, sucking for a long moment. 

 

“Again,” Sif challenges. Without hesitation, Loki raises a hand and slides two elegant fingers into his mouth, studying her face with the dark edge in his eyes as he pulls them back out. Instead of marking himself, the prince sprinkles salt onto them and simply lifts his fingers towards her.

Sif’s eyes flicker from his hand to his eyes and his wicked grin as he attempts to keep the lime in his mouth. Not one to back down, Sif leans forward. Delicately, she wraps her lips around the tips of his fingers then slowly moves to slide them deeper, taking him to his first, then his second knuckle, down to his third, tonguing and sucking at the salt that clings to his skin. She feels his fingers curl slightly in her mouth. Loki shifts in his seat. 

Pulling back, she nips the ends of his fingers and reaches for the tiny glass, eyes flickering back to his, where he waits patiently, the lime giving the illusion of a green smile. 

Agonizingly slow, Sif leans back in towards her prince, letting her hands slide up his thighs until she hovers in front of his face. His eyes flick down to her mouth, waiting motionless. Until she slides one hand against him, brushing along the seam of his pants. Grunting, he pushes forward towards her mouth as she descends upon the fruit, bumping his sharp nose against her cheek. 

He takes a long breath, letting Sif pull the lime from between his teeth and she is pleased to see his composure unravel slightly. She likes him best when she has broken down his carefully built walls, smashing down his facade of indifference. Revealing something more base, when he uses his wicked mouth for something other than his lies. She wants to see him undone.

 

He watches her from his chair and Sif contemplates for a moment before sucking two fingers into her own mouth. Keeping his gaze, she drops her hand leisurely, dragging her wet fingers in a line up the smooth skin on the inside of her exposed thigh to of the hem of her purple dress.

“Oh, my lady,” Loki breathes and his heavy voice drags heat down her spine as she dusts salt on her leg and places the lime between her teeth. 

A dark eyebrow raised towards him in challenge makes his eyes flash before he curls down. Reaching forward, he places his hands on her hips and leans down to her lap. His hot breath tickles her thigh. The warmth of his tongue touches her skin, pressing softly as he begins to map a trail up her thigh, moving slow. Pushing down the urge to shift under his mouth, she watches from her shadowed seat as Loki drags his mouth higher, licking past the line of the salt and his sharp nose pushing the fabric of her short dress higher.

Sif squirms and grabs the back of his head, yanking him up by his dark hair. Grinning wickedly, his eyes lock on hers as he reaches for his glass and shoots the liquor, rolling his body up to take the fruit from her. As he moves in, Sif drops the lime from her mouth and meets his lips, grasping tighter to his dark hair. 

She can feel Loki’s growl of surprise and approval before he returns the kiss, dragging her lower lip into his mouth, turning it out to expose the delicate skin with sharp teeth. Pulling back with a sigh, Sif keeps her eyes locked on the prince. “Darcy, I believe we require more of these small glasses, so we may continue your game. To make sure we are doing it correctly.”

Loki grins, his eyes dark and dangerous. When Darcy doesn’t respond, Sif breaks eye contact and turns to find her friend sitting in Ian’s lap, furiously kissing him, and otherwise occupied.

Loki snorts. “What was the word she used? Sleazy?”

“Come,” Sif grabs Loki’s hand and stands, trying not to smile at the way his eyes travel the expanse of her legs to where her skin still glistens from his mouth. “Let us find more of this drink.”

She leads him to the bar, asking the barkeep for more of this tequila for herself and Loki.  
“Single or a double?” the man yells over the music. Sif shrugs.

“Double the order. Two bottles should suffice for now.” The bartender makes to protest, but the brandishing of cash, money Sif is not sure is more than an illusion, Loki sweeps across the bar halts all questions.

Sif sits on a high stool and leans her back against the bar, gazing out at the crowd around them while she drinks. She finds Earth fascinating, wondering at how these creatures with such short lives choose to spend their time. Apparently their lack of time has made them bold, for hardy ten minutes pass and four men approach Sif, offer to buy her a drink, to take her dancing, asking for a number. Sif is endlessly entertained by such misguided inquiries but dismisses most of them easily.

Loki appears less than entertained by it all. If Sif didn't know better, she'd say that he was feeling jealous of all the attention she’s drawing. Not that he doesn’t have his own fair share of admirers, numerous women and a handful of men approach him. None receive more than a haughty glance, scanning their forms before turning back towards Sif. She does not protest though, when he puts his hand on her thigh from where he sits next to her. 

The line of men continues and Loki’s displays escalate, a hand on her nape, between shoulders, slung around her hips. Until he is practically looming over, pressed close, invading her space and speaking into her ear.. As the night progresses, fewer men approach, most wilt under the sharp gaze Loki throws them, the magic seeping from him making their hairs stand on end. He is utterly ridiculous, and Sif would tease him if she didn’t find the powerful sort of possessiveness slightly arousing. 

 

After drinking a bottle of this tequila, each, and then another two, Sif feels pleasantly warm and free, similar to the feeling of blood warming her limbs under the weight of her sword and shield at the call of battle. She wants to move.

She wants to dance.

When she informs Loki of her desire, he protests. “I would rather not."

“Are you afraid, Silvertongue?”

“I do not wish to be seen. Such displays are not fitting for people of our status, Sif.”

“We have no status here, Loki,” Sif places a hand on his face. “The burden of upholding the crown does not apply, just for tonight. Forget about it and join me.”

“I cannot just _pretend_ to be something I’m not,” he complains. “And I most certainly am not a Midgardian.”

“The Liesmith cannot lie to himself, even for a night? I do not believe you. If you do not wish to accompany me, that is fine. But I will accept the hand of the next suitor who asks.” Sif’s threat is the same as before, and the result too is the same. His eyes flash hot.

“Fine,” he rises from his stool and takes her hand. The slight sway in his body as he stands nearly doesn’t register for Sif except when she feels the same woozy rush to her head. Perhaps the human’s alcohol is stronger than she thought. She remains steady on her high heels though, and pulls him to the dancefloor, to the middle of the crowd of Midgardians. 

She stands for only a moment to observe others, watches all the writhing people around her. Sif is quick to mimic them, leaning back. She pulls Loki’s hands to her hips as she sways rhythmically and he presses against her back. The music is unlike anything she has heard, deep and repetitive and consuming. There’s something about it that pounds its way into her head and under her skin. 

“When in Rome,” she mumbles to herself. With her hands over the top of his, she guides Loki’s palms, leading him in exploration across the planes of her stomach and the curve of her thighs. Her heart beats in time with the music pulsing around them.

She circles her hips slowly, pushing back against his hips and he groans in her ear. It makes Sif’s heart jump. It’s strange to not be facing him, but his breath is warm against her temple, along her neck as they move. She experiments again pressing back against lap, lost to the sensation of his form molded against her back while the hands and bodies of other dancers trail over her in the dark.

Long fingers grab at her hips and waist, tugging and following the swirl and rock of her swaying body. Still rolling her body, Sif reaches up behind her and curves an arm around his neck. Loki’s hands continue to map her strong frame, sliding along the smooth of her dress and up the inside of her strong legs. His dark hair twists between her fingers and she feels her blood heat up, responding to his every touch.

Spinning, she turns towards him placing her hands on his shoulders in a position that is much more familiar to her. His leg is between her thighs and she lets out a sharp breath as she rocks against him. Swaying her body with his, the deep beats reverberate in her head and a strobe light flashes across the floor. 

It is a bizarre thing, the flashing light. It seems to make everyone move in a slow, disjointed motion. It makes her feel off-balance. Sif is captivated by Loki’s face in the methodical flare of light and consuming darkness, throwing shadows against his regal cheeks. He looks dangerous and deadly. Each flash of his face, of his eyes burning with hunger for her makes her stomach flip.

She has seen this look is his eyes before, but never in so public a space. Even in the dark taverns of Asgard, they are not afforded such a luxury, rarely do they do more than hold hands under a table. Or perhaps sneak kisses outside a back door or on an abandoned balcony in the palace. Loki is still a prince. And she is known across the Realms in her own right. Eyes are always upon them. But not here, on this hot dance floor.

Here they are anonymous faces in a sea of preoccupied mortals, too wrapped up in their own fleeting existence to pay mind to the beings among them. Here they are nothing, no one. Here they are free.

The release from the weight of their standings on Asgard, all the expectations that shackle the would-be king and a member of his royal guard disappear. Here and now there is no performance, no conventions and customs to uphold, nothing to hide. It is utterly thrilling. Her heart slams heavy as she sways into her lover, his own arousal pressed against her. Intoxicating. She feels drunk with it.

The music shifts something longer and deeper. Sif wraps her arms around Loki’s shoulders, sliding against the thin fabric of his clothes, and lets her head swing back. She feels wonderfully dizzy and closes her eyes from the lasers and flashing lights. Loki’s mouth is on her neck and she lets out a moan. Still they move together. She digs her fingers into his back and wraps another hand behind his neck. 

 

His name falls as a whisper into his ear, lost in the noise of the club and their beating hearts. By the tightening of his arm around her waist, she knows she was heard. He lifts his head and leans back to look into her face. 

She traces one hand from around his neck to the line of his jaw and down to his throat. She pauses there, seeing the splashes of dark red Darcy painted on her fingernails and admiring the illusion they give as if her fingers permanently drip with blood. A hum vibrates under her skin and she moves her hand lower, wraps her fingers around the silk knotted at his throat. She grabs the tie and drags him to her. 

He responds in kind, wrapping his arms around her back and pressing them flush together. She can feel his erection between them as they move together. Everything seems to move in slow motion as she rolls her hips against him, nothing else matters but him. They dance and sway, rocking together in time to the low music. She grinds down against him and he pulls her hips forward and rocks up into her. Pushing and pulling and grinding until Sif is breathless.

She pulls on his tie again, enjoying how it anchors her to him and drags his mouth down to hers. The heat of it makes her blood race. Cupping her face, he tilts her head and slides his tongue over hers. His mouth is urgent and demanding. The heat pooled in her belly melts down her spine, between her legs. She undulates against him still, to the pulse of the music, through the fog of her arousal.

 

Suddenly she feels his hand grab behind her knee, dragging her leg up and over his hip and she gasps at the unmistakable press of his length firm against her. She breaks the kiss to gasp and to look into his eyes. Her heart beats faster. A primal, aggressive sort of need rolls from him, in the desperate slide of his palm on her thigh, in the possessive hold of his hand wrapped around her jaw. His control is slipping in his want for her. 

This time it is he who whispers her name.

She needs him. Now. She pulls him and they stumble down a dark hallway. As a door swings open, she pushes past a man standing before it and shoves Loki inside. 

“Hey! What the fuck, you dumb-”

His reply is cut short as Loki whips around, teeth bared and the air crackling around him as he steps forward. But his action is interrupted when the shieldmaiden slams his back against the door. Sif presses her weight against him, pins him beneath her and kisses him hard. Her desire is bitten into his bottom lip, scratched into his scalp under blunt nails. All is forgotten but this. Again she pulls on his tie, this time to rip the fabric from his throat, to tear open the clothes from his chest. 

He does not laugh at her forwardness. He surges forward, crashing her back into a wall. The God of Mischief presses close, hands sliding rough beneath her dress. His nails glide over the skin of her thighs, her hips as he tears the lace of her undergarment from her body. 

Loki breathes harsh against her neck and she hooks a leg around his hip. Pulling him closer, closer. She can’t get close enough. The second prince lifts her thighs, and she pulls herself up the wall with an arm around his shoulder to wrap her legs around his waist. He rushes his hips to her and she moans aloud. His kisses are hot and sumptuous, spiking her desire higher and painting it flush across her skin. The rough of his denim is not enough and she reaches a hand between them, against his cock. He whimpers against her mouth.

She wraps tighter around him as he turns and crosses the room before dropping her along the edge of the marble counter, rucking her dress around her waist. Her back is cold against the glass of the mirror and he undoes the fastenings of his pants, taking himself into his hand. Sif does not miss the layers upon layers of Asgardian leather in this moment. He leans forward to kiss her again, his free hand fisting in her dark hair. He slides himself against her, slowly, slowly, and she groans at his teasing.

“ _Loki_ ,” she hisses against his mouth as he continues to brush against her. She is aching with need for him. He too is desperate, for only another moment passes before he allows her hand to help guide him as they fit together, through the slow push of the first slide. 

She leans up to kiss him as he fills her and begins to thrust. He returns the kiss with equal fervor, all of the events of the night pushing the pace of his hips quicker. A long hand is braced against the counter, he looms over her. She pushes her hips forward to meet his, nails digging and sliding along the skin of his back. Loki groans against her mouth and reaches to throw one of her legs over the crook of his arm. 

It is like fire up her spine and she moans. His body is powerful over hers and she runs her hands appreciatively across the smooth skin over lean muscles. Loki tucks his face to her neck, and chokes down the groans in his throat. He moves faster, wilder and both of them are gasping for breath. He fucks her urgently. To keep from shouting as loud as she would like, Sif digs her teeth into the flesh of his shoulder. 

With a hand reaching between them both, her fingers spark heat inside her as he moves. It coils in her belly, tightening as she moans. Sif fists her hand in his inky dark hair, forcing the prince's gaze to meet her own, wild and desperate. 

She takes in his open mouth and wide eyes while he groans, losing all of his carefully kept control. He looks beautiful and broken. Her climax hits her like a flash of lightning, bending her body back with fingers digging anchors into his back as she shouts his name. 

Loki moves within her still, her name dripping from his lips as she rides out her pleasure. He hovers his mouth over hers, his voice broken and tattered as he chases his own release. His hips move hard and wild against her and she touches her tongue to his lips as he cries out. Her arms, her legs wrap tight around him and he buries himself deep, presses as close as he can, a long moan buried in her mouth. She likes this best, when he has been unmade and reformed in her arms. She holds him until his body uncoils and he kisses her languidly, his breath fast.

She takes her time untangling herself from him, watching with a smile as he tries to tame his hair back into place, messed from the pull of her fingers. He pretends to be annoyed about the destruction of his tie as he uses magic to redress, but Sif can see his satisfaction in this release, letting his built up tension bleed out. She takes his hand as they make their way back out.

“Ew, sleazy!” Darcy shouts at them when they emerge from the hallway, brushing past the line of people waiting outside the bathroom door and ignoring their knowing looks. Ian very deliberately looks anywhere but at the gods running fingers through their mussed hair or his own hand twined with Darcy’s. “Come on, lovebirds. The cab is waiting. I hope you enjoyed your excursion into Earth’s primitive culture. You can thank me later.”

Sif laughs and begins to follow her friends out of the building. Loki tugs on their entwined hand, pulling her back to him. His smile is warm as he brushes her hair from her face, people streaming past them, and he kisses her fully again. Perhaps he doesn’t find Midgard so horrible after all.


End file.
